


Not so Unexpected After All

by mrspollifax



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-24
Updated: 2009-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspollifax/pseuds/mrspollifax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>This isn't really how he'd thought it would happen.</i>  Timestamp-meme sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/57542">Half a Conversation</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not so Unexpected After All

  
This isn't really how he'd thought it would happen.

The thought intrudes not because he isn't interested in what he's doing; not because he's so easily distracted from the curve of her hip under his hand, or the warm, soft weight of her resting in his lap, or the sweet, sweet skin of her breast pressed against his lips.

Geez. Carter's breast – Carter's _naked_ breast – against his lips, and Carter's taut nipple his tongue, and Carter's hands in his hair, urging him on. No, he's _definitely_ interested. Interested, in fact, doesn't begin to cover the way he's feeling right now.

It's just that he's still in shock, really.

Because if anyone had told him yesterday that a mere twenty-four hours later, he'd be here, sitting on his couch, with naked Carter skin as far as the hand could feel and the eye could see, he'd have sent them off to the infirmary to have their head stuck through a scanner.

Restless, he kisses his way up the swell of her breast to her shoulder and her neck; he feels her hum more than he hears it, vibrating her skin against his lips. He answers the sound with one of his own, and she arches her back, and now he's got naked Carter skin pressed against his own all the way down his chest.

Jack would never, ever have known that grabbing weird alien device number 673 while he was staring, mesmerized, at the sight of Carter trying not to laugh at him would somehow turn out to be the best idea he'd had in a good ten years.

Damn, she tastes good. How is it possible for anyone to taste this good?

Yes. Best idea in a long time. Possibly ever. Even if it did mean he'd spent the day unintentionally revealing increasingly personal information over their own personal one-way psychic radio.

She's shifting against him, impatiently, and he returns his attention to her neck; but one of her hands is sliding down his side and across his thigh and when her fingers close around him, all he can think is _damn_, is she good at that.

"I know," she says; and then, "You really think entirely too much."

"Role reversal," he responds, tightly. And because he thinks that sounds like a good idea – if this isn't going to be over before it starts, that is – he slides one of his hands off her hip and into the heat between her legs.

"Mmph," she says, or something like it, anyway.

"Good?"

She nips the skin below his ear, and he decides that counts for a yes.

He hadn't meant to think those things in her lab. Not exactly. Innuendo – veiled or not – is one thing, as is his admiration of her fine – very fine – physical features. But the other part, well, he's made an art of not thinking that.

"I liked that part," she says softly, curling one hand behind his neck and pulling herself closer.

He'd liked it too. He'd been surprised just how _much_ he'd liked it, liked her little intake of breath and the softening around her eyes and the way she couldn't quite decide whether she wanted to smile, kiss him, or throw something at his head.

The fingers of her other hand brush up and down his arm. "That's still ..." and she pauses, shifts, then continues, her words labored but measured, "an option. Throwing something, I mean."

As far as Jack's concerned, she shouldn't be talking at all right now, let alone giving him this level of sass; probably he needs to adjust his technique.

"No," she gasps into his neck. "No, you're doing just fine."

He shifts his fingers slightly.

"Just – oh, _God_ – fine."

No, he hadn't really meant to think it then; just like he can't help thinking it again now, now that he knows the rhythm of her hips moving against his fingers, the taste of her skin and the scent of her hair and the exact sound of her voice when she breathes his name against his ear.

She whimpers, and he shifts again, and then he's holding her to him as she shudders, her breaths ragged and her fingers pulling at his skin.

There are so many things it's impossible to avoid thinking at this point.

He's still holding her as she gradually relaxes against him, his arms around her waist and his hands moving slowly on her back. He's trying to be soothing and patient and all of those things he knows he's supposed to be; but soon he's the one moving against her, and she laughs, a low, enticing sound that's not helping with his impatience at all.

When she pushes away from his chest, it's slow and languid, all skin sliding along skin; she meets his eyes and he thinks she looks as surprised as he felt earlier.

He wonders which part of this surprises her.

Then she kisses him, soft and easy and full of feeling, and he stops wondering altogether. She's doing that thing with her hand again, and she's lifting her body and sliding down onto him, and who really needs to think, anyway?

He certainly doesn't.

-

She's standing in front of him in his kitchen, tilting a glass of water from side to side; with a single step she closes the distance between them and leans against the counter next to him. He quirks an eyebrow and she lifts her chin, giving him a tiny smile.

"At some point," she says, "we're going to talk about how you _did_ think it would happen."

Somehow she's wearing his shirt instead of her own, and that part, at least, seems fairly predictable. But really, he doesn't think it matters that he's surprised about how it happened, since he's far more astonished that she ever happened to him at all.

Her expression hasn't changed; looking over her shoulder, it finally occurs to him that it's past sunset and he's got his opinions all to himself again. The realization triggers a moment of panic that he really should have had earlier, if only she hadn't been distracting him with those sweet, vulnerable looks and all that spectacular nakedness.

He feels her hand slip into his, squeezing gently, and he looks back down at her face. "I know something that shouldn't surprise you, though," she says.

"Oh, really?" he asks. "And what's that?"

"Just this." She leans in and kisses him lightly on the cheek, then squeezes his hand again. "I love you too."

THE END.


End file.
